Lycanthropy?

I woke up this morning with a fuller beard than usual. I had a strange taste in my mouth. My t-shirt was dirty and had blood stains on it. I couldn't make out the taste in my mouth, but it was foreign to me. I felt strange; almost hung over. When I went out to get the paper, I noticed my front door was off of its hinges. Bear looked at me strangely; almost in fear.

I still didn't think much about all of these strange goings on. A further survey of the yard yielded what looked to be the haunches of a large animal. OK, now things were becoming officially strange. I poured a cup of coffee and flipped on the radio. The announcer was talking about something that had terrorized our local animal reserve last night. A gazelle was killed and mutilated, but the authorities are at a loss to explain just what killed it and how.

When I lifted the cup of coffee to my face, I noticed dark thick hair on my knuckles. Then I remembered the bite. Of course, a full moon too, that explains everything.

I need to back up a bit.

Last week, I was sitting in my office unwrapping a 6" tuna on wheat from Subway, when I heard a louder than normal utterance of my name. "JOHN!" I heard it again, then a third time. I half ignored it, because we have a patient named John. Many times in the past few days, I have responded to my name only to learn the nurse was talking to the patient and not me.

Something about the volume and pitch of the nurse though pried me away from my sandwich to go out and investigate. By the time I took a few steps toward the nurses station, I realized that a patient was behind the desk attacking the nurse.

Fortunately, the attacker was a 65-year-old lady, but she was a tough 65. I ran to the scene and grabbed (I'll call her Florence) from behind and pulled her away from the nurse (I'll call her Sue). Florence and I danced around for a minute or so. I didn't want to hurt her and I didn't want to let her go so she could resume attacking Sue. Other staff was off of the unit with the rest of the patients who were in the cafeteria eating lunch, so I had to keep Florence busy until help arrived.

Florence kept fighting. I was just controlling her and keeping her from hurting anyone. She was after Sue's keys. Her plan was to get the keys and let herself out. In the process of my dance with Florence, she bent over and bit me on the forearm. I saw it coming, but I couldn't get out of the way. Sue saw it too and helped get her teeth free of my arm, but not before the skin was broken. I didn't know it at the time though it was only after we got Florence in the seclusion room and gave her a shot to calm her down that I noticed the blood.

On the way out of the seclusion room I noticed a drop of blood on my arm. I washed up good and noticed two places where Florence's choppers broke my skin. The worst part of the whole thing was I had to go to the Redi Med to be seen by an MD. I felt like a wuss because I routinely hurt myself 10 times worse than this on any given weekend and I just shake it off.

But protocol is protocol. So, long story short, I go to the doc and they give me a tetanus shot and draw my blood to make sure I don't have Hep C or HIV. The doc said the person biting is more at risk than the bitee. I joked about that very thing earlier. Folks were concerned about me, but I deflected the concern by saying, “You better keep checking her vision; she may go blind after biting me.”

I thought that was the end of the story, but last night was a full moon and apparently, I turned into a werewolf, tore the front door off of its hinges, ran to the Global Wildlife Animal Reserve and took down a gazelle.

I guess from now on, I am going to have to plan my life around the moon phases. Oh well, that's life.

I guess I better Google "werewolves" and see if there is anything I can do short of a silver bullet.

Until the next time
John Strain

Is it worth it?

I was a Cub Scout and a Boy Scout. My brother was too. My sister was a Blue Bird and a Campfire Girl. My dad was a scout master and my mother was a den mother for Cub Scouts and a leader for Blue Birds and Campfire Girls.

As a kid, I breezed through my scouting adventures oblivious to the hard work and sacrifice my father made. I am sure my brother and sister would say the same thing. Our parents were involved and it cost them time and effort.

At the Grand Canyon wearing a Boy Scout T-shirt

If you have read Sally's writings about her Girl Scout leader adventures, you get a pretty good idea of what is involved. There are lots of meetings and trainings to attend, there are difficult people to work with, and there are issues that come up with your own child to workout. One does not always know "the answer" and there are loads of challenges, costs, and insecurities to handle.

From time to time, such leaders must ask themselves, "Is it worth it?"

Is it worth giving up weekday evenings and various weekends to be exposed to people you would rather avoid than do volunteer work with?

Is it worth being the "heavy" because it is the right thing to do and having all of the kids hate you?

Is it worth the certain occasional issues that come up trying to balance being a parent to your child and treating them like an equal in the group? You will be accused of playing favorites by some kids and their parents, and you will field protests from your own child that you aren't being fair to them.

I suppose each leader has to answer these questions. These are the things that don't appear in the leadership recruitment brochures.

When adults volunteer to help their children in a group, whether it is scouts or sports, they have a vision in their mind. They have an idealized, Norman Rockwell scene playing in their mind's eye. Then the reality of the setting slaps them awake, but by then it is too late to retreat.

I love the scene in the movie Parenthood. Steve Martin was a baseball coach and he encouraged / made his son of about 8 or 9 play second base. Suddenly, the batter popped up a pitch and it was headed for his son. As the ball flew through the air awaiting the catch, the viewer was given a glimpse inside Steve Martin’s head. It was in the future and his son was receiving a college degree. The son was making a speech and he said, “I want to thank my Dad, for making me play second base.”

Back to reality, the ball came down in his son’s glove, but he couldn’t hold it. They lost the game and his son was the goat. Again, we were given a glimpse inside Steve Martin’s head. This time, it was an emergency scene. One heard gunshots and people were taking cover. “He’s in the tower,” someone said. Then the camera panned over and you heard someone “obviously the son” shouting from the tower, “You made me play second base.”

We imagine one thing but get another.

I can relate myself. I coached baseball and basketball. There were times I really did not want to go to the field or the gym on a Friday night or a Saturday morning or afternoon. It seemed such a sacrifice. My grass needed to be cut. My shed needed to be cleaned out. I had to pay my bills.

I always told myself, "Someday, you will want to see John play basketball and you won't be able to. This is temporary." I was right. John is 22 now. I don't have to go to anymore games. But you know what? My grass still needs to be cut, my shed still needs to be cleaned, and I still have bills to pay.

I know my parents both grew from their experience as leaders. To this day, they both spout words of wisdom taken straight from the leadership seminars or scout manuals. My mother would tell all of us at times things like, "Always finish what you begin." I think that is some sort of Blue Bird motto.

Scouting drilled good values into my head. We recited the scout pledge and the scout laws at each meeting. We took off our hats, placed our hand over our heart and said the pledge of allegiance at every meeting. We learned respect and patriotism.

It meant a lot to have my parents involved as leaders. I was proud of them and they provided another level of security that I enjoyed.

Now that I have grown up and had my shot at enjoying the sacrifice others made for me and making the sacrifice myself, I have no regrets. I think it was because my parents led by example that I felt a certain obligation to step up when it was my turn.

The value of volunteering is immeasurable. It pays dividends from now until the end of your days. I profited as a child experiencing scouts and enjoying the sacrifice my parents made. As an adult, my leadership ability was enhanced by my earlier experiences and I persevered because I had a good example from which to learn.

So is it all worth it? It was for me.

Until the next time
John Strain

Schizophrinic rant

Schizophrenia is a terrible disease. It literally takes away the person that was or the person that could have been. It is not a funny thing at all. The disease destroys or stresses families to the limit.

I work with people that have schizophrenia. They are still people and live day to day like anyone else does. They have a routine, they have places they go, and they have things that they do.

One person with schizophrenia once told me that she had a broken brain. That is a good description of what it is and what it does.

That said, sometimes folks with schizophrenia can say something that is so funny you have to laugh. The following is one of those things.

This lady came to us from another facility. I will reprint what the triage nurse wrote from the referring facility. She captured a small slice of someone with schizophrenia, off of their medication, elevated, and on a rant.

Arrival per ambulance, pt found on the side of the road, states she felt like she was going to have a seizure so she layed down on the road. On arrival here, the pt is talking non-stop , states, "You know I used to be a brain surgeon but I lost so many MF'ing patients, I had to go into research, and then I went to work for the CIA and I was an assassin, I killed so many MF'ing people all over the world, I used to be built like a brick house and they called me Ice Baby, when I wore my mini skirt and bent over I caused a lot of MF'ing wrecks. Did I tell you I was raised in a satanic cult and they used to put me in coffins all the time, they took my spine out one time. You better take your paycheck and buy your family an uzi and shoot all the MF'ers you can because the anarchy is coming. I used to be a junkie and if I had some heroine right now, I'd shoot that MF'ing shit up all day."

I am sure the patient went on, but you get the idea.

Aren't you glad you don't have her problems?

Until the next time, I am thanking God for relatively stable mental health.
John Strain

Simple pleasures

There are few things in this world more satisfying than that first cup of coffee in the morning. I'll take mine black. That way I never have to hunt a spoon and the rainbow color choices of sweeteners. I don't have to worry about tracking down milk or Coffee Mate either.

Sometimes in the afternoon on a Sunday, I will pour some of the leftover cold coffee in a cup half way, add milk, microwave, and enjoy. A little caffe' au lait never hurt anybody that wasn’t lactose intolerant.

I wrote about this back in 2003 so I won't rewrite it here.

So, after I finish the coffee, it is time to strap on the running shoes and run. The trouble is I have been sidelined since January due to a pulled groin muscle.

I am slowly improving. I thought I was almost healed so like a moron I worked out harder and ran some. Now it hurts again. Hopefully, it is only a minor set back.

I have the coffee, but the running still eludes me. Somebody hand me a hanky, boo hoo. OK I feel better now. Who says men can't cry?

How about that sign at the top of the post showing coffee for a nickel? Those were the days. Now it will cost you nearly $5.00. Thank God I don't smoke because I'll pay the five bucks for the coffee if I have to. I am sure I would do the same for a smoke if I had that monkey on my back.

Rats, my coffee got cold. Guess I'll have to get a refill. Bear is bugging me for his simple pleasure - the morning walk.

Duty calls. I hope you are enjoying your java or whatever it is you enjoy, and I hope it is just the beginning of a great day for you.

Until the next time
John Strain

Sojourner

It is both a comfort and a fear that life changes. We are sojourners, not staying anywhere or in any situation for long. If your life isn’t going well this may be comforting, but if your life is good, you may have a nagging anxiety that it will someday slip away.

How do we cope with the change and the uncertainty? How do we press on, get up each morning, and go about our day? Some do it by not thinking about it. This is the stuff of existential angst.

We are finite. We will get old and deteriorate. Our quality of life will peak and then decline over time. Our friends, our things, ourselves will someday all be gone. Before you go rush off to find a razor blade or that pistol in your nightstand just think for a moment.

The folks who cope with these things do not avoid thinking about them, but use the knowledge of their certainty to wring out the most from life day by day and moment by moment.

We can let years go by as we amble drone like through a mundane routine, or we can enjoy the beauty and wonder of life as we take our one-time lap around the track.

The wise men, poets, and philosophers usually conclude that our relationships are our treasure. The simple moments are the diamonds, and the laughter is the medicine that fuels our happiness.

We can distract ourselves with fighting and anger. We can be bitter about our jobs, politics, and competition, but this attitude is a cancer that eventually destroys us a little at a time until we are without joy, becoming more and more cynical.

We choose each day which path to take. After a while, it becomes second nature. As the years go by, the path we have taken shows on our face and in our heart. Anger and bitterness or happiness and appreciation are the results.

We are sojourners, walking through life. We are influenced and in turn we influence. What kind of an influence are you? Do you add joy and laughter to those around you or are you part of the bitterness, anger, and enmity?

Life will never be perfect. At least in my experience my dreams have always exceeded my grasp. However, when I look over my shoulder at my past, I see how the disappointments have strengthened me and the blessings are beyond number.

Life goes on and it will go on after me. It will never be just what I want, but like an ice cream cone on a hot day, my choice is to enjoy it or let it melt into a pool of wasted pleasure.

At the end of the day, the simple things like a happy dog, a star I know by name, and a cup of hot tea all tell me that my worries are insignificant. My treasures cannot be taken from me because they are timeless and free.

Godspeed fellow sojourners.

Until the next time
John Strain